Eleanor Thinks About Her Companions
The room is warm is red with it
and she is thinking darkly that these people
hate her secretly find her silly
And she imagines them dead or worse
Imagines the sound of herself
as the sound of cheese being grated
That ones voice is the sound of bravado
it is the brag in the lung as it pushes oxygen
into the blood stream - without me etc. etc.
The father one is a bearded sink
a point of darkness where the knowledge dies
he is a buttonhole smoking a pipe
The psychic lesbian is a trope
that has never caught on but here she is
sitting on the carpet admiring her red toes
Eleanor wants them to go away
wants the silence that a mother's death promised her
she wants to disintegrate into the woodwork
Imagine them being eaten by the fireplace
her warmth guaranteed until the bones ran out
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